


Between the Devil and the Plushie Gator

by Astray



Category: 16th & 17th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Kit is a devil, M/M, Modern AU, The Author Regrets Nothing, Will is a Uni teacher, first attempt at AU, there be an alligator plushie, this is bordering on crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Shakespeare is a normal teacher - he forgets many things, including his own birthday. And finds an alligator plushie at work. And no one knows where it comes from.<br/>Rated for a rather smutty ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Devil and the Plushie Gator

**Author's Note:**

> I asked a friend what she'd like to see written and she said 'Shakespeare + plushie'. Being French Wrimos, we have this Gator mascot, which I decided to use here. 
> 
> I am afraid that I am shipping Shakespeare and Marlowe more and more. If only my Uni teachers knew. 
> 
> Dedicated to Ewig - and Ambrose - for bearing with me in my Shakespearean plight.

William Shakespeare was not the kind of man who would attach too much importance to his birthday. Or rather, he was often so caught in a flurry of activity that he usually forgot all about it, unless someone kindly remarked on it. Currently, he was under a heap of half-written works, deadlines pressing down on him and really, at this moment, he felt like a bit of iron stuck between the hammer and the anvil. Why did he even accept to give that extra lecture on 'Theatre and Law'... Why? The sheer amount of documents was forbidding in itself. Not to mention that the resident specialist was also the resident fiend... And that Kit could not help but rub it in every time he got a chance. 

That had been William's second mistake: why accept lecture given where Kit was also the assistant? Why? Karma was probably getting back at him for what his namesake did centuries ago – and it had to be bad. Very very bad. A glance at the clock on the wall pointed out that he was running late. Damn damn damn damn damn! Each damn punctuating his running into something in desperate search for his papers. Where was that blasted edition of _The Merchant_? Where? 

“Looking for something, Will?” 

Trust the fiend to magically appear every time he was not wanted. Every single time. Will sighed in desperation, throwing his hands in the air. “Scholar and seer, now? Something new to add to your already extensive list of achievements.” Probably not the best way to greet someone before 8 a.m. - someone who obviously was still asleep, if the dark cloud virtually hanging above Kit's head was anything to go by. Just as he turned back to his task, he was hit at the back of the head by... his edition of the _Merchant of Venice_.”How?”

“All plays are stored on the dedicated shelves. As I recall, you bothered the entire faculty because I refused to let you organize it. And from the moment you had it your way, it went out of your head.”

“It was not on the shelf yesterday, it was on my desk.”

“On a chair besides your desk, and open upside-down too.” With that, Kit Marlowe turned around and went back to bed. It was only then that Will realized that Kit was actually dragging the quilt with him. He shook his head. 

Putting his book in his bag, he very nearly ran off, but not before he smashed his foot in a corner. Could be worse. He was nearly out the door when a distinct shout of 'YOUR KEYS!' echoed from the bedroom. He really will have to make it up to Kit, he thought as he grabbed his keys. 

He arrived just in time for his lecture to start, and he pointedly ignored the strange looks his colleagues sent his way as he dashed though the corridors as though the Devil was after him. Aside from the initial run for it, the lecture went rather smoothly. And reminded him just how much he disliked the trial scene. In all fairness, he was not a great admirer of Portia. It made him feel a bit bad for Bassanio and Gratiano, to have been played like children. Oh well. It was not before well after 11 that he finally managed to go back to his office. Rather, his lair. If his flat was almost tidy, it was only to avoid conflicts with Kit – they had this tendency to scatter papers, and so, it had been agreed between them that the common areas were to be relatively free of papers. He had already ended up marking Kit's papers as though they were his own, before realizing his mistake. Rather, Kit made him realize his mistake when he snatched the papers from his grasp and just ranted at him stealing his ideas. Which was preposterous in any case. Though Kit tended to be a bit... over dramatic sometimes. And it showed in the way he wrote – much like his own namesake. Flowing words that made reading his papers like reading very good prose, rather than some tedious account on performance in the early seventeenth century, or the evolution of playhouses. 

Will let go of the pile of books he had been carrying from the library, half of which were borrowed for the sake of a few notes he needed. It was not his fault, he had to hoard books. Though, again, he was not as bad as Ben. Ben who was the terror of librarians, and most of all because it was a torture to force him to give the books back. Oddly enough, he was more than willing to return other people's books. But library's books? No sir. Something about hoarding knowledge, and surely, Ben and Kit would sometimes go on a rampage, the like of which usually scare him from the premises. Bookworms, the two of them. 

It was not until he was done organizing the books, and his papers, that Will noticed the box on his chair. Admittedly, it was partially hidden behind the clutter – organized, clutter, but clutter still – of his desk. Strange. It bear no stamp mark, no address – only his name, printed on cardboard. Curiosity got the better of him, and so he opened it. Inside, a single item. Green. With a... what? He got the... plushie? Yes, it was a plushie. Looked like a crocodile plushie... With a small, black beret laid askew on its head. It was a finely made one at that. But still, who could possibly know? Who? It made him uneasy, even though this... crododile... no, alligator. The muzzle was different. This alligator plushie was bordering on adorable, it still nagged Will that someone went into his office like that. He called the first person he knew might know: Kit. Although, it was probably lunchtime for him, and usually, Kit did not take well anyone calling at this time. Halfway through the call, he jammed the little red phone icon. An idea was forming. He already knew for a fact that no one in the department would answer – if they knew at all – if he asked directly. He'd wait and see... Or not. He did the next best thing: call Jonson. Never mind that they are not the closest. Jonson would probably know. Or so he thought. 

“I have no clue what you are talking about.”

“Someone came into my office and left an alligator plushie!” He was near freaking out, and Ben's bored tone did not help. 

“Honestly, Will.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I guess I should say happy birthday to you, fool. So it's probably someone who wanted to give you a gift on that occasion. It's what people do.”

“Kit doesn't.”

He could hear Jonson raise his eyes to the sky. “Kit Marlowe is not everyone. And we'd have thought that after so long, you'd get it. Speaking of the devil, he's there. Want to ask him?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.” 

Right before he hung up, Will heard Ben mention his misadventure to Kit. Damn them. Well, now he's got one option. With the dreaded Jonson and Marlowe duo, the entire faculty will know in no time. Better for him to take the first step. 

_On this day, around noon, the tired teacher retired to his desk, hoping to find comfort and solace, from the rush. And so it befell, his seat was taken – an alligator sat in his stead. Surprised, yes, pleased, certainly, this teacher would now inquire.  
And now, the teacher goes, to ask of all here whether or not the culprit they know. Who the gator on the chair left to sleep until this undertide, for the teacher to come back and with a start, find it. _

He was not particularly proud of himself on this one. It was a start though, and even though it would make his colleagues think that he was getting even crazier, then why not? 

The day went on, uneventfully. Friends called to wish him a happy birthday, while Kit remained silent. It was not all that odd, all things considered. But it still bothered him. And what bothered him more was the presence of his unknown well-wisher. It was not until he came back home that he realized that he had dragged the plushie along with him the entire day. Will came back to...

“Kit?”

“What?”

“Are you actually cooking?” And really, there was Kit, shirt's sleeves rolled to his elbow and hands deep in what suspiciously looked like dough. 

“I was tired of the pizza you ordered, so I took advantage that I finished earlier to actually do it myself. Now, if you have nothing better to do, you have onions to chop.” 

In one sentence, Kit reminded him of his habit to order take-away food, the fact that Kit could actually cook when he sets his mind on it, and that Will himself was never to be trusted with a pan. However, it turned out to be a great idea, the pizza was quite good, and Kit actually thought about buying his favourite ice-cream. Nothing like proper ice-cream directly from the pot to finish a meal. Especially he was finally allowed to eat it on the sofa, leaning against Kit and watching whatever was on TV. Will was perfectly content. He laid the empty ice-cream container, along with their spoons, on the coffee table and reclined against Kit. As his eyes fell on the small alligator plushie, Will could not help but feel better in Kit's arms. Even though said Kit seemed determined to have him move away. Will stood his ground, pressing back against him, his head resting on Kit's shoulder as he did so. 

“You really don't want to move...”

“No.”

“Shame.”

“Tell me that I'm boring you.”

“Not quite. But it's still a shame because there are things that need be done.”

“Such as?” Lips briefly caressed his temple, warm breath grazing his skin ever so lightly. 

“I believe that we still have not properly celebrated your birthday...” 

Funny how a single sentence of Kit Marlowe was enough to send one Will Shakespeare into a flurry of movements. Will did not doubt that it would amuse Kit greatly, to know just how much his words meant. He probably knew already though, if the predatory grin plastered on his face was anything to go by. Obviously, having Kit crawling on all fours, until they were face to face on the bed, did not help Will's addled brain to come up with anything coherent. He could not move away, he was trapped, and there was no way out. They were breathing the same air, almost touching. The proximity made Will wish he could reach out and just hold Kit to himself. He would never do that, though. When Kit finally laid his lips on his, it was barely a brush. Very much unlike Kit, the ghost of a touch that left him craving. It was a wonder he did not make some weird noise at that. Again, it was useless, for Kit could be a merciless man. Kit's playful smile made his heart skip a bit. Caught as they were in their respective works, they rarely had time for each other. As in, enough time. “Will... I am going to make you scream.” Someone, kill him now! He wished he did not hear that, wished he did not hear that sultry tone of voice that seemed bent on doing very interesting things to his body. And why Kit, why? However, when Kit decided it was time to stop playing, he could not protest. Whatever protests he might have had were drowned in the furnace of Kit's mouth. His heart leapt against his throat, his ribcage could burst. His hands helpless found purchase on the sheets, twisting and clawing as Kit's clever mouth and hands were picking at the seams of his sanity, tearing him apart with each move. It was a fever that consumed him, and if such was the hellfire that engulfed Faustus, then he would not think twice about Kit being Mephistopheles. _His._ Only his. 

When Will awoke the next morning, he idly wondered if the neighbours would throw a fit. After all, Kit made good on his promise. Glancing at the alarm clock, he saw that it was still way too early to be up and about. Not that he wanted to get up. He was pleasantly sore, thank you very much, and for once, he could actually snuggle against Kit without incurring his wrath. Though he would still have to deal with that 'blasted gator'. As he mumbled his complaints in the crook of Kit's shoulder, he missed his lover's knowing smile.


End file.
